Stray
by Latino Elf
Summary: During the Second Titan War there were over one hundred newly revealed Demi-God's who were not properly escorted to Camp Half Blood, left to their own devices with no safety measures or knowledge of their abilities most either perished at the claws of Hell Hounds or the whips of Harpies. But not all. This is their story. [Leo/OC] [Clarisse/OC] [Percy/Annabeth] [Nico/OC]
1. His Story

_"Some people aren't loyal to you,_

 _They are loyal to the need of you._

 _Once their needs change,_

 _So does their loyalty."_

 **His Story**

* * *

It all begins with Percy Jackson, and the Second Titan war. It all begins with a simple meeting about new recruits, and the ethics behind recruiting newly found young Demi-Gods in a time of war. It is not, in theory ethical. Many Demi-Gods fall during war, but Percy had enough of watching thirteen year old's die. He himself was merely twelve when he began his journey and he even told _himself_ it's what turned him into such an amazing hero, but it's also what cost him his childhood and naivety. It's what cost him his intact personality, and restful nights not plagued by nightmares. So the decision was made one late night after Percy and Annabeth had Iris messaged the CHB counselors and Chiron to hold said simple meeting with all the camp Counselors, the decision to retrieve every Satyr and Demi-God watching any potential newbies from the field, and hope to the Gods that after the war, they will all still be there.

Some were, quite a few actually. Sons and daughters of Aphrodite, children of lesser God's who went relatively unnoticed during the war, a couple kids of Demeter and Apollo. Percy could breathe a breath of fresh air because he hadn't actually screwed up this time, he'd saved some kids lives by keeping them from the war, and retrieved them after the fact with little to no hassle; but Chiron warned him there were strays, and these strays though alive and well were not happy. These strays were street kids, and unfortunates who had been brutally searched out and attacked by countless creatures during the war, kids who were asked to join Gaia's forces by lesser Gods and Goddesses on her side of the war like Khione and exposed to the war despite Percy's best efforts. Chiron warned him that one day; this may turn and bite him in the ass.

Because it's true, one stray's story began when he was forced to enter Gaia's forces at the ripe age of thirteen after being snatched from a perfectly functional home, a son of Apollo exposed to torture and terror. He barely escaped with his life not even a year after the fact, near the tail end of the war, and then he met a Satyr in Seattle who went by the name of Sage, a Satyr who'd been sent away from some Safe Camp for Demi-Gods due to his younger age, and the resentment bloomed. He talked with Sage about the war, without mentioning his own involvement, asked questions about the camp, where it was, what it was like, how old are the Demi-God's there and over and over again the name he heard was Percy Jackson. Then Sage began to talk about Percy and Chiron's unanimous decision to halt the processing of potential Demi-God's in America and bringing them to safety whilst the war was ongoing and it was game over.

Then began his army building, slow and unintentional at first but it grew nonetheless. He would save helpless, stranded Demi-God's of all ages; he'd tell them of Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter, of the war and the other Demi-God's decision to leave them to their own devices. So they decided to build their own, personal camp in the backwoods of Dakota. With over thirty young Demi-God's living together in one area with no adult voice or help they had many issues, many injuries and a death or two along the way but in the year and a half after their numbers grew they established a stronghold protected by mist developed by the two sons and three daughters of Hecate that had join their forces, and were hardly approached by monsters due to their odd, and difficult to locate area; but when a monster did happen by their stronghold it was easy enough for thirty some Demi-God's to fight it off.

Then the time came for a war, a war against the injustice done to the Demi-God's who'd lost their lives, families and childhoods to the ignorance and well-meaning yet destructive decision of their kind, who had no right to make that decision in the first place; and so a scouting party was created led by the one true leader of the rogue Demi-God's, the first Stray.

Connolly Lorn, Sixteen, son of Apollo, and the rogue Demi-God who vowed to take down Percy Jackson, if it's the last thing he does.

 **But you can call him Knoll.**


	2. Her Story

_"Underestimation of a situation_

 _Is where people always go wrong."_

 **Her Story**

* * *

You hear horror stories of Foster homes, and Group homes and Orphanages but truly, unless you've lived in one there's no possible way you can fathom the horror kids experience daily. This is what she lives by, what she knows to be true. Because she's been in and out of Foster homes, group homes and Orphanages since she was three. A bright eyed, excitable little girl who the system said they'd have no trouble placing in a new home. Until, that is, when visitations of perspective parents took place said bright eyed, excitable little girl began speaking to them about the _things_ she would see, the sprites she would watch flitting in and out of the forest that surrounded St. Bernard's Orphanage home, the wolf she'd had a conversation with at the zoo, and suddenly no one wanted a child with a wild imagination.

When this 'imagination' didn't go away by the time she was ten, the Orphanage decided it was time to get her some help and sent her to the nearest Group Home with around the clock therapy sessions. This is when she learned to suppress the side of her that proved to people she was crazy, and then came the Foster home hopping, when her whole story really began. Her first Foster family was a wreck, with two parents that worked full time and three kids all around her age (at this time twelve) she had to practically lock herself in the upstairs bathroom before they decided to skin her alive when they weren't at school. She stayed there no longer than three weeks; she was taken back to the system when she pushed the eldest son down the stairs. She didn't tell anyone she did it without even touching him, but only by making the motion with her hands.

This is when she came face to face with her first monster, when she lived with behemoth and his horribly homely looking wife who continuously pronounced her name wrong. He was disgusting, at least 200 pounds overweight, and jowls longer than his chin. He had the habit of popping her personal space bubble just for the hell of it, and his breathe? Not so hot either. His lewd comments didn't always register with her younger mind, but most the time she spent her evenings in her bedroom, because the way he looked at her made her highly uncomfortable. Until she broke a plate while setting the table for dinner one night and was grounded for a month. Now she wasn't dumb, she knew this was an unreasonable amount of time to ground a child from something as minor as breaking a plate; so when she retreated to her bedroom for bed after dinner she decided to let her wild streak run rampant.

She snuck out in the dead of night, out the back door and into the crappy little ghetto like neighborhood they resided in. There were sirens ringing out through the streets, countless people sitting out on their front porches with their little overhead lights on, smoking or shooting up, talking about whatever drug addicts and crazies talk about; and for some strange reason she felt at home as the late autumn air stung her bare skin. So instead of retreating back inside she continued on her merry little way, all the way to the downtown center where life teemed, even at this ungodly time. She couldn't wipe the self-satisfied smile off her face no matter how hard she tried, and considering children out and about downtown at any hour of the day wasn't really uncommon she was left to her own devices by the strings of open bars, and late night restaurants she passed by. It felt like home.

However when she passed by a dark alleyway she felt the cool touch of someone's fingers wrap around her arm, pulling her unwillingly into the dark. She didn't have time to cry out for help, as another cold hand slapped down over her mouth so instead she tried to struggle, her muffled cries didn't stretch far but they were at least something; then she was spun around so her back was pressed up against the alley wall, a figure not bigger than hers looming before her. "Look-" a boy hissed angrily, shaking her stiff form a little "-there's something following you, it's been tailing you since princess street and if you _don't shut the hell up_ it will find both of us. And I don't particularly feel like dying on behalf of a scrappy pre-teen girl!"

She shut up.

She didn't know how long they stood there for, a half hour maybe, possibly a little longer than that; but the whole time she was holding her breath. What was following her? He didn't say _someone_ he said _something._ A stray dog maybe, but the tone of his voice sounded more urgent than if a stray dog had been following her. He was terrified for his life, and from what little she does know about the outside world stray dogs don't actually attack unless previously provoked. That's when she saw the dog like figure loom past them, its unnatural height and the way it shook the concrete with every stop was what gave her the indication of its inhuman, unrealistic origin. It snuffled a little, growled more and then it was gone.

"We're clear." He breathed after another short few minutes of waiting, cutting through her thought process and letting go of her shoulders. Her eyes, now adjusted to the din of the alleyway picked up his angular features and the lightness of his hair. He couldn't be much older than her, really.

"Clear of what?" She asked incredulously, following after him as he exited the alleyway into the light of the streets. Her previous notion of him not being much older than her was proven, he was probably thirteen or fourteen, and he had the blondest hair she'd ever seen on anyone, with cerulean eyes to match the lightness of both his voice and appearance.

"Never you mind; it looked like it was having a hard enough time tracking you to begin with, knowing what it was will only put a bigger target on your back." Then he was off, slipping into the crowd like he wasn't even there to begin with, and being her impulsive self she jumped into the crowd of moving people coming from some nearby venue and most likely heading to another bar in search of him, but he was long gone and she only got herself lost in the downtown center. That's how the cops found her later that morning wandering around downtown with tears in her eyes, and how she received a one way ticket back to the group home for behavioral children.

The second time she saw him was a year later, when she was admitted into the nearest hospital after having a major panic attack. When asked by her therapist later that day what it was she saw when she lay completely shot up by morphine in her hospital bed, in an uncomfortable hospital gown, she said it was a Chimera. Then he asked her what type of books she'd been reading lately, and she said it was none of his god damn fucking business, if he didn't believe her he could just go to hell for all she cared. He wasn't pleased with this response, she was sure of it. But she was also sure she didn't care. She knew exactly what she had seen, and she knew it had been coming directly for her, and if it wasn't for tall blonde and beautiful she'd be cat chow by now. Well cat/snake/goat chow… really.

He'd killed it, well not exactly killed it… she'd watched it mold itself into the ground after he'd defeated it; with a measly bow and arrow no less. Then he was gone, again, and her panic set in.

However later that night as she lay awake contemplating her sanity he appeared in her doorway.

"I could scream bloody murder and the nurses would be here in a few seconds, y'know."

"That does, however, defeat the purpose of that big red button beside your bed. Why wake up other patients?"

"You're mocking me."

"Humoring you, I could be out of here before a nurse even registers a scream, or a distress call."

"What do you want?"

"You need to come with me." She raised her head then, shock evident and he laughed throatily in response.

"I'm not kidnapping you, relax. You'd just be safer with me, and I know from what you've seen and experienced as of late… there's no way you won't be coming with me."

"And why's that?"

"Because that Chimera isn't gone forever, and it'll come back for you."

"How do I know I'm not just insane and you're just a figment of my imagination?" He shrugged a simple shoulder, smiling that half smile half smirk that she later on finds herself infuriatingly accustomed to.

"You don't, but underestimation of a situation is where people always go wrong, did you know that?"

That was the day she, Daevy Chea found herself striking out across America with a boy she knew nothing about, fighting the monsters that want them for dinner, and brewing hate for the Demi-God's that left them to their lives before and after they felt the blood of God's broil underneath their skin.

 **But you can call her Evy.**


	3. His Beginning

_"When you meet someone who tries their hardest_

 _to stick by you regardless of how difficult you are,_

 _keep them. Keep them at all costs because finding_

 _someone who cares enough to look past your flaws_

 _isn't something that happens every day."_

 **His Beginning**

* * *

He would always lay his head against her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart as he fell asleep underneath the inked expanse of sky above, the moon hanging as a crescent in the night, stars showering them in enough shine to keep his fear of the dark at bay. He hated cloudy nights for this exact reason, and would normally ask her if she could find them shelter to sleep in if he knew he was going to have a horribly restless night. She always delivered, no matter how much stress he seemed to cause her; she never broke a promise, and never once couldn't provide for him. He called her by her name like she adamantly requested he did but in his head he referred to her as sister; because to him and his little nine year old mind that's who she was. He could remember his grandma once telling him that family didn't always have to be blood related, some people were family through heart and loyalty. He never could quite understand what she meant, until the day he met _her._

She was the sweetest person in his eyes, though she was easily provoked and had little to no tact, when she looked at him her normally sharp features would soften considerably, her hard voice would lessen in its intensity every time she would talk with him _unless,_ of course he pissed her off; Which wasn't such an uncommon occurrence, really. She was kind hearted underneath the tough exterior and loyal to a tee. Not long after she took him in he found himself attempting to mirror her personality, she was his role model despite her constant protests that she really wasn't anything special; she was his role model because she carried the weight of his world and her own world on her shoulders yet was able to smile and assure him when he felt hopeless, and laugh joyously when he said or did something funny. She always kept his spirits high even though she was internally low.

He could remember the day they'd met, it was the sunniest day he could recall but also one of the stormiest. His grandmother had just passed that morning, a month before his eighth birthday. He'd gotten up at the crack of dawn like any other school day, trotted down the stairs to the kitchen where breakfast was surely made up for him, pancakes and bacon and eggs. His grandmother was a great cook, just as she was a great person. However when he didn't hear the tall tale sound of clattering plates and the sizzling of pan grease he was perplexed, and even worse when he didn't see his grandmother when he gently peaked around the corner into the kitchen panic began to set in.

 _"Grandma, grandma where are you?" She wasn't one to play hide and seek, she was too old, as she said, for games. So he tended to play with Digger, his grandmothers fat old gray tabby until he got bored and went to go play outside with the neighborhood kids. He turned to run back up the stairs, tripping on the third step from the top (the only lose step) and bashed his head on the banister. He cried out in pain, sniffling as he rubbed his sleeved arm across his face, tears rimming his large doe eyes, "Grandma!" He called out again, this time more desperate. He wanted her to hold him, to brush off his head and tell him he'd be all right it was just a tiny fall; but all he heard in return was Digger's mewl. His head shot up, relief washing over him. If Digger was here, then Grandma was too. Maybe she was just still asleep? She'd never slept in before, but she was too old, he reasoned simply._

 _So he lifted himself back up off the floor, finished the last few steps and being careful not to catch his feet this time he started towards his Grandmas bedroom. Normally he wasn't allowed in her room, if he had a nightmare she'd come get him and take him downstairs to the nursery where he used to sleep when he was a baby, she'd sit with him in her lap in her old rickety rocking chair and would fall asleep with him. That is when he always felt the safest, in his grandmother's arms. However he has been in the room on a few rare occasions, and inside it was littered with pictures. He could never get a good look at who was in the pictures, only glimpses here and there of smiling faces and variously colored eyes full of immense light, by the time his tiny mind processed this his Grandmother was already shooing him out._

 _He followed the narrow hallway all the way to her bedroom door, which was cracked ever so slightly. Digger mewled once more as his weight caused the floor boards underneath his feet to creak slightly, and when he laid a palm flat on the door it swung open willingly, revealing to him his Grandmother still fast asleep in her bed. He smiled then, all his worries vanishing at the sight of her sleeping form. "Grandma, it's time to get up!" He called giddily, jumping through the room easily. Digger was up on the bed as well, kneading the soft duvet and mewling incessantly as soon as he saw the boy enter._

 _"Grandma, c'mon, I have school!" It began as a whine but he knew she hated whining so he just turned the sentence into an excited statement, grabbing the edge of the bed and quickly crawling up beside his grandmother. She didn't move, didn't even bat an eye. Curiously cocking his head the young boy ran a hand through her long gray hair and found her skin to be freezing to the touch._

 _There was a loud crash downstairs, and he jumped, covering his mouth with his hands to keep from screaming in surprise. Digger arched his back, ears flattening against his large head as he hissed menacingly at the bedroom door. Turning back to his Grandmother he hurriedly shook her shoulder, and felt the stiffness in her bones against his hands. It was as though he knew without actually knowing, because death was something disguised from children and of course he was only but a child._

 _But he knew._

 _Another crash, and this time he jumped off the bed, catching his foot on the bedspread and sprawling to the floor in a flurry of pillows and blankets, hitting the ground with an unsatisfying crack. He wanted to cry out, but refrained from doing so because now he could hear the quick succession of foot falls coming up the stairwell. His hands began to shake as he began disentangling his feet from the blankets, standing up just as Digger spring boarded off the bed and slipped through the half opened door, skittering down the hallway. Not even seconds later she came crashing in._

 _Her blond hair was tangled; her normally ivory features flushed red. In her one hand she held a thin needle like dagger, ornately decorated with various coloured jewels. Across her forearms there were spatters of black goo and what he could only assume was blood as it was dried brown onto her skin. He should have screamed then, ran, bit, and kicked; anything to save himself from the intruder. But for some odd, unexplainable reason he figured he trusted her, she seemed trustworthy, and she couldn't be any older than fifteen. So instead, he just began crying._

 _"My Grandma won't wake up!"_

That was the first time he'd met her, Cole, the girl he loved like a sister, the girl who raised him until the day they were officially separated, and he was sent to Camp Half Blood against his will with her last words to him hanging on the edge of his memory.

"When you meet someone who tries their hardest to stick by you regardless of how difficult you are, keep them. Keep them at all costs because finding someone who cares enough to look past your flaws isn't something that happens every day, bud. That's why we have each other, we're a family and we always stuck by one another."

His name is Cypress Kilman, most recent son of Aries, the God of War. Nine years old and a first year at Camp Half-Blood.

 **But you can call him Cy.**


	4. Her Beginning

" _Life is tough darling,_

 _But so are you."_

 **Her Beginning**

* * *

She was eleven when her dad died, and though it should have been the most horrific experience ever for a girl her age, a girl who was also missing a mother… she wasn't shocked. There wasn't a time she could remember when he wasn't a chronic smoker, he'd been doing it before she was born and continued until the day cancer took his body over and squeezed the breath of life from his lungs; yet to this day despite the evidence that cigarettes did lead to his demise she still holds his habit as her favourite memory about him. The way the smoke would curl from his lips like the curve of a cats tail, how he had to keep at least five lip chaps on his person at all times because the smoke dried out his lips, and he had a bad habit of losing the small tubes of wax; and even though he smoked at least a pack a day, sometimes a pack and a half if he was feeling particularly nervous, his breath always smelt of mint and black coffee rather than death and ash like you'd expect.

She could remember that he only used one specific lighter, It was handcrafted from cedar wood and was inlaid with red jewels; and if he didn't have it he wouldn't light a cigarette. He always told her it was a gift from the Heavens and so to respect the Heavens he would only light up when he had that exact lighter in hand. He said it was his lucky charm.

Ayla, their maid told her that her Mother had given it to him and he was full of shit.

He wasn't.

She was eleven when her dad died, sitting by his bed at the hospital that smelt of antiseptic and mashed bananas, holding his hand that hung so limp between the spaces of her fingers. She always thought he was the strongest, most reliable man alive and to watch him deteriorate before her very eyes was not okay with her, but she knew it didn't matter if it was okay with her or not. It was happening. On occasion Ayla would come storming in, grabbing her by the back of the collar and hauling her back to school because she'd skip just to come watch her father sleep, watch his chest lift and fall. Knowing he was still alive was what kept her going that whole year. So when she lost him, sanity was no longer an option.

That's why she told herself that the odd things she was seeing were just a figment of her imagination, that she was just crazy because she'd lost someone so dear to her and now she was grieving. That she wanted something to distract her from reality, so she started seeing unrealistic things. But when she returned home one day from her newest boarding school, grumpy because she saw her step mothers sleek jaguar parked out front and found Ayla perishing at the claws of a larger than life black dog with pits of fire for eyes she knew either she'd gone totally insane or something just wasn't _right._

 _"I'm home," she called through the entryway, dropping her backpack by the shoe rack because she knew it drove her step monster insane when she left things lying around. Tousling her blonde hair as though that would disentangle the curly mass she padded into the living room, expecting to see the bane of her existence sitting on the couch, watching some sort of reality show on TLC and gripping a glass of white wine and when she didn't, she felt a little at odds._

 _"Ayla, where are you?" There was shuffling coming from the kitchen, or more accurately snuffling. Cocking a confused brow she continued on her way without much thought, moving to head upstairs because whatever Ayla was up to in the kitchen wasn't her business anyway; but before she even reached the first step on the large spiral stairway she heard a sort of loud gurgle, like someone was choking. Without pausing she pivoted on her heel and jogged into the kitchen, fully prepared to perform some form of first aid to save Ayla or her step monster from dying, because one parent wasn't enough apparently, but when she came into the kitchen the sight she found wasn't one she expected at all._

 _The kitchen seemed to be painted red, little splatters of blood filling into the cracks between the white floor tiles, the liquid already drying to the cupboards, and the smell was sickly sweet and left a metallic tang in her mouth. Her shoulders stiffened, green eyes widening in shock as she came eye to eye with her step monster, sprawled out on the granite island, striking blue eyes open and unblinking, mouth gaped in a scream that was never heard, chest busted open to reveal her ribcage and all encased within it. The snuffling continued._

 _She had to force herself to move around the tall island to see around the other side, and what she saw she could have most definitely lived without. She could see Ayla's feet, bare as they usually tended to be when she was in the kitchen, painted a pale bubblegum pink, but covering the rest of her body that was jerking wildly was a large black dog that couldn't be a dog in the first place. It stood at least five feet tall, with a head bigger than the washer in the laundry room, its paws about the size of her head. The smallest of shrieks passed her lips as the realization struck her hard and when it turned its head to stare directly at her she stared into pits of smoldering fire._

 _That's when she made a mad dash for the back door, and that's when it chased her._

 _She crashed through bushes that surrounded the forest in her backyard, feeling the ground shake every time the demon dog's paws hit the ground behind her. It was huge, there was no way she could out run it for very long but there was no way she was going to give up either. About a minute into the chase she veered to the right to see if it was smart enough to follow, and sure enough it was; she figured she was done for, feeling the warmth of its breathe slither up the back of her neck. Then there was a whiz of air that flew directly past her left ear, a thunk, and a howl of outrage. She was barely able to skid to a stop when from her side a boy and girl came crashing out of a set of raspberry bushes. The girl, who had ink black hair and seemingly darker eyes slipped past her immediately as though she weren't even there, charging the dog who was now attempting to detach the arrow that had embedded itself in its right shoulder. Black goo dripped from the hole the arrow head had dug, and though it was temporarily distracted it didn't seem particularly maimed._

 _The boy, who had hair so blonde it was almost white and eyes a crystalline blue that reminded her of her step mothers eyes grabbed her by the shoulders, shoving her behind him and unsheathing another arrow, notching it to his bow and taking aim. She was shaken up, barefooted and appalled at how fearlessly these two faced the demon like creature in front of them. She shook her head out, laying a hand against her chest and as he let the arrow fly, this time missing with a hiss of disappointment she asked the question she'd had running through her mind since her father's death._

 _"What the hell is going on?" He cast an amused glance over his broad shoulder, his lips turning up in a slight smirk that infuriated her despite the current predicament._

 _"My name is Knoll, her name is Evy. We're half-bloods, that's a Hell Hound, and- I'm sure you've figured this part out, it wants to eat you. Now are you going to stop gaping or fight, or are you my newest damsel in distress?"_

 _His comment infuriated her, but also reminded her of her father's last words to her as he finally slipped into his coma._

 _"Life is tough darling, But so are you; and one day you'll make the biggest difference of all, I know it" and she picked up a rock, because she never went down without a fight._

 _That was her first meeting with Daevy Chea, or more accurately known as Evy, and Connolly Lorn, though he goes by Knoll. Rogue Half-Bloods that other, older Demi-Gods too caught up in some sort of war had failed to scout out, leaving them to their own devices… or more accurately their own deaths._

 _That is how she, twelve year old Keely Cole Bremner, became a Rogue Half-Blood herself._

 **But you can call her Cole.**


End file.
